


Aegis

by Akiko_Natsuko



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Death, Friendship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Missions Gone Wrong, Protectiveness, Serious Injuries, Strength, Team as Family, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 07:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16237208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: Reinhardt was their shield. His strength was of a different kind, forged not by war but by friends, by family and those he had protected throughout the years. It was a strength to protect others, not himself.





	Aegis

Reinhardt felt old.

    It was a feeling that had been creeping up on him more and more, intensified by the fact that they seemed to be scrabbling for success and losing ground with each mission. It had been easier to brush aside the defeats in the past, because there had always been something to fight for, someone who still had the hope that they could win. Now though he could see the defeats written in the deepening lines of Ana and Jack’s faces, in the subdued spirits of their younger members and more than that, he could feel it in his own bones, an ever-present ache that made it harder and harder for him to pull his armour on each day.

    It was a feeling that normally he would never have even let himself acknowledge. Normally he would have deflected Angela’s scolding and Ana’s gentle concern, he would have rebuffed the youngsters’ teasing with his own jokes, playing down his age and relying on the stubbornness that ran deeper than ever since his forced retirement years before. Retirement had never suited him, it was why he had fought it so hard and why when he had lost that battle, he had continued to travel the world and seek out places where he could help. The places where he could protect the people worst affected by the troubles that Overwatch hadn’t managed to end, the people who were being overlooked by those in power. It was why he had answered the Recall and it was why he was here now, pinned against the wall, his armour scuffed and dented in far too many places, his helmet shattered and torn away in the earlier fight. His shield remained, but it was flickering in front of him, cracks running through the blue light, spreading by the second and he knew that it wouldn’t be long before it broke completely.

    Retirement had never suited him, but right now he almost wished that it had and that he was facing his death in the comfort of his own bed. It was a passing wish, a fate that he would never have accepted. However, it didn’t stop him from feeling his age as his hands trembled with the effort of holding the shield in place as Doomfist bore down on him once more, biting his bottom lip to hold back a grunt of pain as he was shunted further back into the wall.

“You are strong.” He lifted his head at the words, staring at his opponent, ignoring the gauntleted hand that was pressing down on the shield and instead focusing on the dark eyes that met his gaze. He could see that it wasn’t admiration that had made the man utter those words, instead it was little more than a statement of fact. In the past he might have taken pride in the acknowledgement of his strength, knowing that his strength had set him apart from those around him, especially in a group where he was surrounded by super-soldiers or cybernetically enhanced individuals, but now… Zurich had proven to all of them that strength alone wasn’t enough, and whilst he might still joke about his strength, allowing the others to ‘trick’ him into arm-wrestling matches with Zarya, it had become less important. “War has made you stronger, so why throw it all way now?”

    Reinhardt studied the other man for a comment, considering his question, highly attuned to the splintering sound filling the silence between them and the way the shield flickered violently, threatening to fade at any second. He wasn’t sure what he was searching for, but he didn’t find it… there was a fire in Doomfist’s eyes, one that spoke not just of determination but of a love for battle…for war… that Reinhardt could never hope to match.

“It wasn’t war that made me strong,” Reinhardt countered, pushing himself up and feeling his body hurting in places that he hadn’t even realised were injured, but he didn’t falter as he held the other’s gaze, realizing that Doomfist was studying him just as intently as he had been studying him. “It was them…no, it is still them. The people I fought with and the people I fought for.” If he closed his eyes he could still see them, the original Strike Team standing tall even though every one of them had come through the war battered and bruised, changed, no longer the naïve group of misfits who had hoped that trying something new would save the world. And if he blinked, the image would shift. There were a few old faces, changed by time and strife, but still standing tall amongst a new generation. Young ones who had grown up with their legends, and who were busy fighting to make their own.

Allies.

Friends.

No, family.

     The thought of them was enough for him to gather his strength once more and push back. They were still here, he could hear their voices in the communicator hanging from his ear although he couldn’t make out their words over the roaring sound that had been filling his head since he had first been slammed back into the wall. He didn’t need to hear the words though, just hearing their voices was enough to tell him that they still needed him. That he still had a purpose. He lacked the strength for a charge, but he would be damned if he would let it end here with him pressed helplessly against a wall. He knew that it was futile, the shield he was clinging to threatening to break at any moment and his body ready to follow, but he pushed those thoughts aside and put everything he had into his shove.

    Dark eyes had been watching his every move and the moment he moved, his opponent moved too, the gauntlet lighting up the air between them as he countered the shove. There was a pause, their gazes meeting and then the shield shattered, blue shards filling the air between them and then Doomfist was moving forwards, and Reinhardt was helpless to stop him as he reached out, metal fingers closing on his own gauntlet and there was a moment of resistance before the armour gave with a dull shriek of tortured metal.

    A second blow had him slamming back into the wall again, gasping as more of his armour caved under the force of the blow and for a moment he couldn’t breathe, tasting copper on his lips as he fought to catch his breath. _I can’t win this._  The thought crept in and with it a certainty that made it harder than ever for him to straighten again, and he pulled a face as he felt blood in his mouth, not caring that the other man could see it.

“You can’t possibly win against me.” Doomfist commented, unknowingly echoing Reinhardt’s thoughts, but whilst the Crusader had felt only calm acceptance at it in his own thoughts, he now felt a flicker of anger at hearing the same words from his opponent. “Why don’t you give-.”

“Never!!” Reinhardt growled, cutting across his words, refusing to even listen to the words. The effort sent him into a fit of coughing and he winced, feeling the caved in chest-plate pressing in with each breath, jagged edges scraping across his skin and drawing fresh blood. It hurt and for a moment exhaustion and the feeling of being old pressed in on him, the weight of it nearly enough to send him to his knees and make him bow his head in defeat. He didn’t, hands tightening around his weapon instead. “I…am their shield.” It didn’t come out as strongly as he’d hoped it would, the weakness he could feel creeping through his body also seeping into his voice, but he didn’t look away and he didn’t let his grip waver on his hammer.

    There was a crack running the length of the hammer’s shaft he realised as he glanced at it, and he ran his thumb over it knowing that it would only take one more blow for it to shatter completely, and he mourned the coming loss. It was an old friend, one that had kept both him and his friends alive over the years, and despite the situation he felt his lips twitch as he remembered how Jack and Gabriel had responded when he’d first turned up with the hammer in tow.

_“A hammer?” Gabriel demanded incredulously as he examined Reinhardt’s weapon, seemingly unimpressed even though it was a struggle for him to lift the hammer, dwarfed by its size and he shared a look with Jack before handing it back with an unhappy expression and an even unhappier question. “You’re bringing a hammer to a gunfight?”_

    They had been soldiers. He wasn’t a soldier, at least not in the same way and so he’d ignored their words, smiling at their naivety and set to work. It hadn’t taken long for them to eat their words, his shield keeping their small team alive through some of the worst missions and his hammer crushing their enemies. What had once been mocking had become gentle teasing and in the rare moments of downtime that they managed to snatch it had become a friendly competition between them. Jack and Gabriel testing their ability to wield his hammer, with Ana on the side-lines taking pictures and waiting to heal them when they inevitably dropped it on themselves.

That had been long ago.

   So much had changed since then. Battle-lines had shifted, enemies and allies had changed. There was a pang at the thought of Gabriel, it was still hard to reconcile the man who had laughed so easily back then, brushing off the pain of a broken toe when he’d dropped the hammer on it, with the Reaper who hunted them all tirelessly. Reaper who was responsible for the man in front of him being free once more. Yet despite that and even though the world kept saying that it didn’t want their protection, the Petras Act stifling their every movement, nothing had really changed. He was still a protector.  He sucked in a breath, banishing the pain to small corner of his mind, banishing the thoughts of defeat that had been creeping in and finding his voice once more.

“I will fight till my last breath.” His voice was steadier than it had been, stronger, reflecting his resolve which was rising as he tightened his grip on the hammer pressed protectively against his chest. How many times had he said that? How many times had he come close to that last breath? Too many times to count. He had survived longer than he had any right to, seen too many people die around them, unable to protect them all.

That wouldn’t happen this time.

     The voices in his ear increased in volume at his words, a cacophony of protests and entreaties as it finally dawned on them all that he wasn’t just buying them time. Now that he was paying attention, highly aware of the eyes watching his every movement, he realised that there were two voices missing in the noise and his lips curled into a sorrowful smile. They knew. They had probably known from the moment he had charged at Doomfist who had been trying to cut off their retreat, carrying them both over the edge of the building and away from the team. He should have realised, because normally Ana would have been the first one of the radio and lambasting him for charging in recklessly, something that she had been lecturing him about for decades and he lamented the fact that he wouldn’t get to hear those words again.

“Ana…” He eyed Doomfist, wondering if he would even be allowed this much, but the other man seemed to content to watch for now, although his gaze was no longer curious, but rather that of a predator waiting for its prey to make its final desperate stand and for the first time in his life Reinhardt felt small. “Are you ready to move out?”

_“Reinhardt we’re comin-.”_

“No.” Reinhardt shook his head, cutting Jack off being he could complete that sentence, heart aching at the desperation in his old friend’s voice. For all that he had tried to bury his heart, to be nothing more than a soldier, it was an act that always fell apart whenever their team was threatened, and Reinhardt wished that he wasn’t the one tearing that mask to shreds right now. “Go…” This wasn’t a fight they could win. They had barely made it back to the ship with everyone but him safe, they wouldn’t be as lucky a second time and there was no way he was going to let them throw away their lives for him.

 _“Reinhardt…you don’t have to do this.”_ Ana finally spoke, and he could easily imagine her expression right now, torn between protecting the rest of their team…their future…and risking everything for an old friend, and he closed his eye, imagining the grief that would already be darkening her eyes. _I’m sorry, Ana._

“Yes, I do.” He whispered, feeling his armour pressing in on him, lungs burning with each breath he took. He was tired, weakness spreading until it was all he could do to hold the hammer up in front of him. “Tell Brigitte…” He paused, coughing, and now that the others had fallen silent he couldn’t miss her sharp intake of breath as she realised just how bad it was, and he was grateful when neither she nor Jack said anything, they would at least spare the younger ones that much. “Tell her…thank you.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, nowhere close, but he didn’t have the breath or the words to say what needed to be said. To thank her properly for following him in his travels, for pretending it was just because she didn’t trust him to care for his armour properly, rather than admitting that it was because she knew he hated being alone. To thank her for the armour that was crumbling around him now, but that had seen him through more battles than he had any right to have survived. For letting him love her like father…

_“I will.”_

     He turned off the communicator then, crushing it between trembling fingers so that it couldn’t be tracked, cutting off the protests that he could hear erupting at her quiet acceptance. He didn’t want them to hear what was about to happen, didn’t want his death to be another burden for his friends to carry. Maybe it was cowardice or vanity, but he wanted them to remember him as he had been, not as an old, broken man unable to do anything but wait for his death. He blinked as Doomfist moved back, giving him room to swing if he chose, the option mocking him because he knew that it wouldn’t be enough. Even if the blow landed, he knew that there was no getting out of this, especially as he could already see the gauntlet beginning to charge in preparation.

   In the distance he could make out of the roar of the ship’s engines as his team finally prepared to take off and seeing the realisation in Doomfist’s eyes he smiled. It was futile, a final act of defiance but he gathered his strength and with one smooth movement he dropped into a guard position, feeling the shaft of the hammer shifting beneath his fingers as he set it against the ground. “You won’t get them this time.” It was enough. The exhaustion and weakness fading for a moment in the knowledge that the others were safe, and he felt a spark of satisfaction as irritation flickered across the other man’s expression, breaking his calm for the first time before his expression smoothed out once more.

It was the only warning he got.

    He had a fleeting impression of movement, the gauntlet lighting up the air between them and then agony erupted in his chest. The hammer’s shaft shattered under the force of the blow, but he barely had time to mourn its loss as he went down heavily, unable to catch himself. There was another blow and he felt more of his armour giving way and he was unable to hold back a pained groan as he landed in a broken heap. “Losing one battle is nothing.” Doomfist was leaning over him and Reinhardt drew small comfort from the fact that there was no triumph in his expression, only satisfaction. He could see the gauntlet charging again and he narrowed his eye, refusing to give into the urge to close it, knowing that he had no way of dodging it this time and determined to face it head on. “I will win this war.” Reinhardt laughed at that, a wretched, broken noise that caught in his chest and with the last of his strength he bared his teeth in a grin, shaking his head as he saw the final attack coming.

“They…won’t let you.”


End file.
